


Little Red

by mywarisalreadywon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, I made myself sad, M/M, Magic!Stiles, UPDATE - I made it happier!, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Wolf!Derek, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:58:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywarisalreadywon/pseuds/mywarisalreadywon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who runs with wolves.<br/>“He started running young,” they say, “he listens to the moon and her pulls.”<br/>‘Little Red,’ she calls to him, ‘it’s time to run and play.’<br/>So off he runs into the woods, “with beasts and magic,” they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who runs with wolves._  
_“He started running young,” they say, “he listens to the moon and her pulls.”_  
_‘Little Red,’ she calls to him, ‘it’s time to run and play.’_  
_So off he runs into the woods, “with beasts and magic,” they say._

* * *

The village of Beacon Hills had endured a long period of peace. It seemed the world was at peace, and the people who lived in the towns enjoyed the relief, though most people were hesitant to admit that it felt like it wouldn’t last much longer. There had been turmoil – a small disturbance according to their neighbors – but it had been a tragedy to the town. The Hale Fire had left its mark, physically and emotionally. The burnt out shell of a house remained at the edge of town, haunting and looming like a ghost. The lives that had been lost scarred the town possibly more than the building though. One of the most respected families, the Hale’s were both loved and trusted. Talia was respected as one of the town’s elders. Lyle was regarded as the town’s best baker. Their children were numerous and just as willing to help anyone and everyone. Laura, the eldest, was loud and brash and refused to accept that a man could do a job better than her; people stopped doubting her confidence when the town flooded and she helped divert the overflowing river. Adam Hale, the eldest son, was one of the finest fighters the town had ever seen, defending the entire Northern side of the town single-handedly during the last war. Derek, Cora, Jess, and Jamie were the younger siblings, and held just as much promise as their elder family members. Then the fire happened. All but Derek and Laura perished. It was a bleak day, with flames reaching into the sky as the world seemed to weep.

Laura and Derek left not long after.

The memory of what had been lost haunted those left behind. Stiles remembered them still, and entertained the children of the village with tales of fanciful magic and men who turned into wolves. While widely regarded as nothing but a young man without a purpose, Stiles didn’t really mind the taunts and teasing. Many wondered why he even bothered pretending to look for an actual job. He tried various jobs around the town, always deciding that it wasn’t for him. So he watched over the children of the town, keeping them occupied with his stories and tall tales. He was also regarded as a little insane as often people couldn’t tell if he believed his stories or not, but people overlooked that because of his father’s influence over the town.

But with each passing month of peace, tensions grew. It felt like something was building over the town, like there was only so much peace they would get. Stiles didn’t bother trying to calm anyone, knowing he’d just be ignored, or worse, treated as a child who didn’t understand how the world worked. So he stuck to the edges of town and hid away in the shadows. He watched the moon, seeing it growing fuller and fuller each night. He smiled at the sight, hearing the howling start up each night. The wolves seemed to set everyone further on edge, so he adapted his stories as he went.

But, just as everyone had known that there was something very powerful about the Hales, they knew that there was something very different – not good or bad necessarily, just different – about Stiles. No one paid him too much attention, but that was how he liked it. He knew the Hales’ secret, he knew why they’d been killed. He knew that the wolves that surrounded the town were the key to that secret. The wolves were the Hales. They’d disappeared after the fire, vanished. Because they were dead, Stiles knew, not because they’d been scared off like everyone said. He’d seen them go back and forth, human to wolf and back. He knew that on the full moon they were trapped in their wolves and couldn’t be human again until the dawn. He knew it just as well as he knew his own magic. His mother had taught him that it had to be kept secret, that he would be killed for it if anyone knew he was more than human, just as the Hales would be killed for being more than human. He hadn’t believed it, not really, until the fire. He’d never been careless with his magic, but he made sure to be much more careful from then on.

As it was, he was considered something of an oddity, but he was happy enough to make up stories and tell tales to keep the children of the village entertained, and people accepted it because it was a useful skill and it kept him from getting into too much trouble himself.

“Long ago, a man loved a woman very much. He gave everything he could possibly give to her. He loved her as much as the moon loved the sun. But much like the moon and the sun, he was always chasing after her, never to catch her. And while he loved her with all of his heart, she only loved what he could give her. So once she had taken everything he had to offer, she walked away, her heart unhindered. And the man, who had given until his heart was empty, was left broken and alone. Years later, he began to love again, though he saved his love only for his family. The woman came back and was angered by how his heart had healed. Her anger and jealousy set fire to his world, and her rage burned everything to the ground. It destroyed everything it touched. She cursed him, declaring that he would never find anyone to love him. She turned him into a beast, vowing that he would remain a beast as long as he lived, hated and feared for the remainder of his life.” His voice captured the ears and minds of all who listened. For all people looked down upon him, they willingly admitted that he was captivating when he spun his tales. His amber eyes seemed to glow, as if the fire in the story burned behind them.  

“He roams the woods still, kept alive and a monster by the curse, true love the only cure able to save him and give him back his humanity. So when you hear the wolves howl tonight, listen close. His is the voice that howls the loudest; his is the voice that howls the saddest.” A little girl tugged on the sleeve of his tunic, pulling his attention to her.

“Will he ever find his love?” she asked, batting big blue eyes up at him. Of course she wanted love, all children still believed that true love was possible and just waiting for them at the end of their fairytale.  

“He’ll find his love when the moon is full and the night is clear,” he answered, “when he learns to accept the beast as part of himself.”

“But who could ever love a beast?” a new voice asked. He looked up, locking gazes with the fiery redhead who never failed to challenge him.

“Someone who sees past the marks left behind by anger and fear,” he answered easily. Lydia rolled her eyes, and the children, recognizing the end of the tale, started to stand up again. Lydia walked over to him, the teasing laughter fading from her emerald eyes.

“The wolves are on the move. People are scared,” she said. “Rumor has it the wolves are drawing nearer to town.” Everyone knew of the wolves in the forest, they were the reason why people told their children not to go into the woods after dusk. But that was a more recent development. Before the Hale fire, the wolves had been peaceful, distant, more a myth than anything. After the fire though, the howls started. Stiles had noticed them growing loud and louder, closer and closer.

“People worry that the rain will wash away the crops when it storms too,” he pointed out, “Just because the wolves are moving doesn’t mean they’re a threat.” Lydia shook her head.

“People are going missing from surrounding towns,” she said, “word travels fast when people start dying.”

“It travels faster when people are lying,” he snorted, standing up and dusting off his trousers. “Lydia, you should know better than others how the truth gets stretched and lies become legends.” She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that he was referencing the monumental catastrophe that was her love life and the many tales that were spun to explain it.

“I knew you wouldn’t listen,” she told him, “I just wanted to inform you so that you can’t say no one ever tells you anything. And don’t think for a moment that I don’t know you started many of those legendary rumors.” With a flick of her hair, she was gone, leaving him alone in the little clearing. He had started some rumors, but his were the more outrageous ones that depicted her lovers in unpleasant lights.

* * *

He looked to the sky, watching as the light started to fade. He knew the wolves would be howling soon and slipped off to his house so as to be ready before nightfall was upon them.

Once at his house, as he’d moved away from his father when he’d come of age, he grabbed his cloak. It was blood red, thick and warm, and the hood hid his face entirely from almost every angle. As soon as the sun went down, out he went, stepping into the foreboding woods without fear as howls sounded around him. As per usual, they found him first. As he walked, taking great care not to trip over roots and stones, a silent hulking shadow joined him. He paid it no mind, letting the black presence follow along behind him. They were soon joined by a third presence, this one a dark, muddy brown. Again, Stiles said nothing, simply continuing his walk. A fourth being appeared at his side – lighter, but still almost hidden in the darkness – as silent as her companions but bolder in that she let Stiles’ cloak brush against her. A fifth creature emerged on his other side, this one not as dark as the muddy brown one but not as light as the presence at his side. A sixth and final being stepped out in front of him, taking the lead. She was a greyish black shadow, but Stiles had no problem navigating in the moonlight. She stopped at the steam, turning to look at him. He smiled back at the she-wolf, her scarlet eyes gleaming gleefully in a way that had nothing to do with the light of the moon. She reared her head back and howled, the sound loud and full of joy. The other wolves echoed the sound, and he had a moment to laugh before he was tackled to the ground and covered in warm bundles of fur.

These were his pack. His family. These beautiful wolves who could no longer become human because of ancient magic. They were happy enough, he knew, living freely in the woods. But he wished sometimes, that they could walk with him in the light of day.

Once they decided that he could sit up again, they curled around him. He grinned widely at them. The lighter she-wolf leaned against his right side while the muddy brown wolf took the left. The black wolf laid across his lap, and the lighter brown wolf curled up at his feet, one paw resting on his ankle. He rubbed the black wolf’s ears, watching his luminous blue eyes close. The others all watched either him or their surroundings, their golden yellow eyes carefully tracking any and all movement. Stiles just smiled, content to just exist with them.

“People are blaming you for the missing folks,” he said, his tone carefully holding back on any judgement. “But I know it’s not you.” The black wolf growled, like he was offended at the suggestion that he would hurt anyone.

“Oh, hush, Sourwolf,” Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. “I just said I knew it wasn’t you.” The gray wolf barked out a sound that could have been a laugh, her eyes alight with mischief. “But I’m guessing you know what is taking them.” She nodded, stepping close and licking his cheek; the action was a promise, a promise to tell him later. He accepted it and moved on, knowing that they couldn’t fully communicate like this anyway.

“Derek, my legs are going numb,” he said, poking the black wolf’s cheek. He growled, but made no move to snap at him or walk away. “Don’t make me ask Laura to move you,” he warned, lifting an eyebrow. Derek huffed. But moved, nudging the boy’s cheek with his nose. He laughed, rubbing his ears and standing up. “So, let’s go find whatever is hurting people,” he said, waving his hand. A green flame appeared in the palm of his hand, and he set off, the wolves by his side.

* * *

They traveled most of the night, stopping now and then to rest or drink. The wolves were content, prancing and playing like puppies for the most part, all while remaining ready to protect their pack. Stiles had to be back by morning, lest the town think he was the next to be taken, but wished he could stay with his wolves forever. He had kept his magic hidden from the village, knowing it would only be taken advantage of there if he were to reveal it, and they wolves never asked much of him except the occasional treat. When he saw the beginnings of dawn, he was about to suggest they head back, already preparing the lie he would tell when people asked where he’d been all night. Then everything stopped; the wolves froze, his instincts screamed _danger_ and he smelled the sickly sweet scent of perfume. Laura growled, her eyes blazing, Derek at her side. The rest of the pack circled around Stiles. They knew he could handle himself with his magic bursting from his fingertips, but were hesitant to move away from him.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” a voice called out. The woman’s tone was mocking, and he could hear the sinister smile that was pulling her lips upward.

“Kate,” he called in return, his mind bringing up images of a burnt out house and grave markers. He had thought she was dead, thought surely Derek and Laura went after her and killed her. He wouldn’t have blamed them, she tricked Derek and killed their family after all.

“You won’t be able to seduce me, I’m afraid,” he said, his eyes finding her as she prowled out from behind some trees. Her dark eyes met his and he suppressed the shiver that threatened to run through him. She laughed, and the sound made his heart thud faster in his chest. He felt Isaac – the medium brown wolf – pressing closer to him.

“Of course it won’t,” she purred, stalking closer to him until there was almost no protection from the wolves. “You’re too well informed. But I must say, I admire how well you’ve trained these mutts.”

Stiles bristled, his fear pushed aside in place of anger. Derek snarled, and she fixed him with a soft look.

“Oh, Derek, but you wouldn’t hurt your first love, would you?” she asked, pouting slightly. He just growled louder, baring his teeth at her. “Remember all the fun we had?” she teased. She didn’t get an opportunity to antagonize him further, a flash of green flame hitting her in the chest. She fell back against a large oak, her expression murderous as she extinguished the flames.

“You should learn some respect,” she hissed. He didn’t miss the knife she pulled from her belt.

“Make me,” he spat, his eyes never leaving her.

“Tell me, don’t you ever get tired of being alone? Even when you have your pets, you’re alone. You can’t hear them speak back to you, you don’t really have any friends.” Stiles didn’t show it, but the words cut deep. “And they won’t ever be able to talk to you. There’s nothing that can undo their curse, I made sure of it,” she snarled, a victorious grin stretched across her face. “And you know what? It’s still working. They’re all going to die. Every last person in that home of yours. And you won’t be able to save them. You like to think you’re invincible, that if anything happened, you could protect everyone. But you’re not and you can’t, and everyone will know that soon enough.”

* * *

Stiles didn’t remember lashing out. He didn’t remember holding his hand out and tearing Kate’s heart from her chest from however far away he was. He didn’t remember collapsing onto his knees, couldn’t feel the small stones digging into his skin through his pants. He didn’t remember the wolves circling around him protectively as he sobbed. He didn’t remember clinging to Derek.

He did, however, remember them leading him home. He remembered stumbling and getting caught by Derek. He didn’t force himself up, just let his eyes fall shut as the black wolf carried him on his back. He remembered making his decision. A curse brought about by spilled blood could only be undone by spilled blood. He remembered them leaving him just outside his house, but he knew they lurked in the shadows a little longer just to assure themselves that he would be safe.

He wasn’t safe, but that wasn’t important. He rooted through his belongings, finding everything he needed for his spell. This wasn’t like his flames, this was something he needed help with. It was something he couldn’t do by himself. He waited patiently, letting days tick by. He forgot to eat some days, growing more gaunt than before. He didn’t sleep much either. The village was worried, and none more than his father. But he saw the signs. He saw the houses that caught flame, saw the crops that died. He saw the curse starting to affect the whole town not just the Hale house and the area around it. People were going to die, hell, people were already going missing. The wolves howled every night and everyone started wondering when – not if, not even who – the next person would be taken. Stiles waited though, looking for the perfect opportunity to make his move.

* * *

He found it on the full moon. People in the village spent most of the day locked up in their houses unless it was absolutely impossible to avoid going out. Stiles waited for twilight to fall before he left his home. He wore his cloak, carrying a small bag of everything he would need. He went down a different path in the woods, moving to the burned out shell that had been the Hale house. He went inside, coughing as the remaining smell of smoke tickled his lungs. He heard the wolves howling. He could swear that he heard the sound of heavy paws upon the leaves and grass, but he knew they were still too far away for him to actually hear it. He sat cross-legged in what must have been the living room, piling the herbs and hairs and dust into a small bowl in front of him. He used some flint to set the ingredients on fire, then pulled out his knife. He heard the wolves at the door, heard their panicked barks and whines, heard the claws scratching into the already mutilated wood. He didn’t need to say anything for the spell, didn’t need to whisper any secret words to ensure it worked exactly as he wanted it to. He looked out the window, the shattered glass blurry but not completely blocking his view of the full moon.

“Trust me,” he whispered. The howls and whines paused before resuming, sounding increasingly desperate. He took his blade and pushed up the sleeves of his cloak, dragging it along the expanse of pale skin now visible. Blood as red as the fabric flooded out of him, splashing into the fire but not extinguishing it. He cut his other arm, closing his eyes as he felt the magic working, draining him alongside the blood loss. He heard the wolves howl in pain, the door breaking open. He collapsed, barely able to keep himself awake as he felt his blood draining from him. His eyes fell shut for a moment, but opened when he felt two arms wrap around him. He looked up and saw two eyes, blazing ice blue before the glowing faded and left two hazel eyes looking at him.

“Stiles.” A rough voice filled his ears, and it took a moment to realize it was coming from the man who was holding him. Derek. He reached up one hand, his lithe fingers gently sliding through the beard covering Derek’s jaw. He noticed the tears falling down Derek’s face and was surprised to feel his own tears falling.

“I had to,” he whispered, “you’re safe now. Everyone is safe now.” Derek shook his head, ducking down and burying his face in Stiles’ hair.

“You’re not safe,” he said, his voice cracking. “Someone else will come along, someone will always come along. They'll try to hurt us and you won't be here with us.”

“Then that person will be dead before they can come anywhere close to you,” Stiles said. “You underestimate my magic. You always do.” He slumped into Derek’s arms, his eyes falling shut again. “Take care of our pack, Derek, protect them.” Derek nodded, whining softly as Stiles’ heart slowed. “Goodbye, Derek,” he whispered.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Derek said, feeling Stiles’ heart stop moments later. He reared his head back as a sorrowful howl burst from his chest, his pack echoing the heartbroken sound moments later from just outside the house.

* * *

  _They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who saved them all._  
_He saved them with his love for them, he fought until his fell._  
_And with his dying breath he gave a second chance at life._  
_Now whenever the moon is full the wolves still howl their strife._  
_So listen, child, to the wolves that bay,_  
_Listen to them mourn._  
_Listen close to hear of Red,_  
_And the sacrifice he’d borne._  


	2. Chapter 2

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who played with fire._

_He gave everything he had to give when the situation turned dire._

_‘Little Red,’ the moon still calls, ‘wake up and come and play.’_

_‘Little Red,’ his wolves cry out, ‘it shouldn’t have ended this way.’_

* * *

Stiles felt like he was floating. All around him was darkness, never-ending darkness. He wanted to call out for someone, anyone, but his words were stuck in his throat. He tried to reach around to see if there was something to grab onto, but his limbs felt like they weighed too much for him to move. Suddenly, there was a light. Just a pinprick of brightness, but it was something to grasp, something to give him hope. As seconds ticked by, feeling like minutes or hours or days even, the light got bigger and brighter and closer. It hurt his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. He felt like it was going to consume him, but he felt no fear of it.

“Stiles.” That voice. He knew that voice. Memories of hugs and gentle touches filled his mind. He remembered sunny days filled with laughter, rainy days filled with stories, and every day was like a dream.

“Mom?”

“Stiles, sweetheart, you need to go back. It’s not time yet,” she said. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t see anything but the too bright light burning his eyes. He tried to blink it away, but it just grew brighter still. “You need to go home,” she said, and he wished he could see her more than he’d ever wished for anything. He felt two hands grab him, felt them burning into his skin as they shoved him back. And suddenly, the light was gone and he was falling.

* * *

Derek refused to let go of Stiles’ body, staying curled around him protectively while Laura begged him to let them bury him, let them say goodbye. He knew she was upset, knew she had felt their loss just as acutely as he had if not more because she was the alpha. He knew it. But he wouldn’t let go. He’d growled as she tried to pull him away, warning her against it. Erica curled up against his side, trying to provide comfort as Isaac and Boyd hovered, unsure, in the background.

He knew, logically, what it meant. He knew what Stiles had been to him even if they’d never been able to say it exactly.

He pressed his nose to his hair, pushing back the scent of blood and death, choosing to focus on the smell that was Stiles’ pure and simple. He wished they’d gotten to have more time with each other, wished he’d been able to let Stiles know him, not just the him trapped in a wolf’s body. 

He would have continued to dwell in his misery, except he heard it then. So soft he thought he’d imagined it. His head snapped up, his pack jumping to alertness at his movement.

“Derek?” Laura called, looking at him in confusion. He didn’t answer, staring at Stiles’ body. Then he heard it again. _Thump._ He blinked in surprise before realizing that it was Stiles’ heart. The next beat was quicker, louder, stronger. By now all the wolves could hear it, and they all watched in morbid fascination. Then, in one single moment in which no one was as quick as they should have been, everything happened at once.

* * *

Stiles snapped up into a sitting position, gasping and desperately trying to pull air into his lungs. Derek fell backwards, startled by the movement. Erica fell because she had been leaning on Derek and he was suddenly not where he had been. Isaac tripped over a loose plank trying to move closer. Boyd tripped over Isaac. Laura fainted.

It took a moment for Stiles to realize that he was awake and alive and no longer bore cuts on his arms. In that moment, he took deep breaths and tried to process how he felt. When he tried to sit up more, he felt lightheaded and dizzy and fell backwards, expecting to his the hard floor beneath him. Instead, he found himself in two warm arms, his back flat against a broad chest. Looking up, he saw hazel eyes and dark hair, and he couldn’t help but smile, his hand coming to rest along Derek’s jaw.

“It worked,” he whispered, grinning widely.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek growled. Stiles shrugged.

“I’ve been called worse.” He was distracted from staring at Derek by Erica, who launched herself at him. She tackled him, essentially, into a hug, giggling.

“We were so scared we lost you, but you’re okay now,” she said. They’d never met before she was turned into a wolf, just as he’d never met Isaac or Boyd before then either, but he knew that their appearance didn’t change their personality and felt like he knew each wolf well enough that he wouldn’t need to know what they all looked like now.

“I’m okay,” he agreed, laughing softly. He looked at her when she started to pull away, and startled a little. “And you’re naked. You’re all naked. I should have seen that one coming because you haven’t had clothes in pretty much forever. I should have known that this would happen.” Laura laughed, shaking her head at his nerves.

“A little skin makes you nervous?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. He resolutely did not look over at her.

“Sorry, us humans are fickle about that sort of thing,” he huffed, making sure not to look below Erica’s shoulders just because.

“Then why don’t you and Derek go get us clothes,” she suggested, “considering you’re already wearing some.” Derek stood up before shifting into a wolf. He enjoyed knowing that he would be able to shift back again, that he wouldn’t be trapped in one form or the other again.  Stiles sighed.

“Because people aren’t going to notice a big black wolf walking around with me.”

“They won’t since it’s dark outside,” she said, a smirk evident in her voice. He sighed again.

“Alright, fine, that works,” he said, standing up. He brushed off his clothes, using his magic to remove the blood staining them. He walked to the door, his fingers absently running through Derek’s fur as they stepped outside. Derek didn’t budge from beside him, which he was grateful for. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up in a bed and sleep for a month. Derek seemed to know that, his shoulder rubbing against Stiles’ hip as they walked to Stiles’ home. He barely made it inside before he went down again, landing on a soft and warm bundle of fur who growled playfully before carrying him to his bed.

“Thanks Sourwolf,” he said, smiling sleepily at him. Derek huffed, moving away further into the room. He came back moments later, human again, and laid down beside him. Stiles turned and tucked himself into Derek’s chest, sighing happily as he drifted off. Derek wrapped his arms around him, the cloak covering both of them like a blanket, and listened to the happy howls of his pack in the nearby woods.

* * *

 

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who loved a wolf. He gave his life for the beast._

_His love was so great, the spell couldn’t fail. The wolf howled in pain as his heartbeat ceased._

_“But love like that is magic”, they say, and that love pulled him back from the dark._

_Now he runs and laughs with his wolf, and their love fuels his magical spark._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the story is done, but this is just the poem part for anyone who wanted that by itself.

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who runs with wolves._

_“He started running young,” they say, “he listens to the moon and her pulls.”_

_‘Little Red,’ she calls to him, ‘it’s time to run and play.’_

_So off he runs into the woods, “with beasts and magic,” they say._

* * *

 

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who saved them all._

_He saved them with his love for them, he fought until his fell._

_And with his dying breath he gave a second chance at life._

_Now whenever the moon is full the wolves still howl their strife._

_So listen, child, to the wolves that bay,_

_Listen to them mourn._

_Listen close to hear of Red,_

_And the sacrifice he’d borne._

* * *

 

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who played with fire._

_He gave everything he had to give when the situation turned dire._

_‘Little Red,’ the moon still calls, ‘wake up and come and play.’_

_‘Little Red,’ his wolves cry out, ‘it shouldn’t have ended this way.’_

* * *

_They tell the tale of Little Red, the boy who loved a wolf. He gave his life for the beast._

_His love was so great, the spell couldn’t fail. The wolf howled in pain as his heartbeat ceased._

_“But love like that is magic”, they say, and that love pulled him back from the dark._

_Now he runs and laughs with his wolf, and their love fuels his magical spark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Granddad, who passed away in March this year, went to an awards ceremony with me both of the years that I won a local writing contest. It was for poems and short stories. The second year, he leaned in close after a girl read her winning poem and whispered to me: "Why did she win for that poem? It doesn't even rhyme. Everyone knows poems are supposed to rhyme. If it doesn't rhyme, it's not a real poem." In every card I gave him after that for every holiday and occasion had a poem in it, one that rhymed. Every time I think of poems now, I think of him and I can still hear him telling me that. This is getting a little long, and I'm getting a little teary eyed, so I'll end with that.


End file.
